The Jewel of Kurain
by MeijiLover
Summary: My first story, by Morgan Fey, about her young daughter Pearl. JFA and T&T spoilers though not too many. ONESHOT. Lots of smooshy motherly love.


**The Jewel of Kurain**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phoenix Wright in any way, and I'm not writing this story for a profit. The Fey Family, Kurain Village and pretty much everything else in this belongs to Capcom!**

**Also, this story is the first one I've decided to share. I don't mind constructive criticism, but please don't flame it just for the sake of doing so. :) I am English and thus I write in UK-English; if you're American then some spellings may be a little different. I hope you enjoy my story – please read and review! Thank you! **

"Aunt Morgan! Aunt Morgan!"

There they were again – those shrill, piercing shrieks issuing from the throat of that silly, pathetic child. If there was ever to be any consolation drawn from the painful truth that the Fey bloodline was missing out its rightful heiress – **me** – then at least this idiotic girl would never be the Master. She was **always** muddy;** always** getting into scrapes; **always** managed to neatly miss the point of her spiritual training, giggling away the importance of what I had to tell her.

It had been a difficult day, not swelteringly hot, but unnaturally humid for a day so late in the year. Every now and again I felt a sweat break out over my skin, even when attempting the most trivial everyday tasks – washing the breakfast dishes, beating the rugs, hanging out the apprentices' clothes to dry – but no amount of resting or quiet reflection would free me from my ailments. Things had come to a head after the afternoon training session, when, having meditated for several hours I made to pour my husband a cup of tea and was overcome with such sudden fatigue that I dropped the teapot with a crash.

"You foolish old hag!" he roared at me, and thumped me hard about the head. "Clean that up – I'm going for a walk – I don't want any of your dippy tea."

I cried for a long time after he left. His yelling at me was not an unusual event; but it was one that I had been forced to endure more frequently than usual, and although I knew that his anger would subside eventually, one can never grow as accustomed to shouting as one might like. We had been married almost six years, and although the union was full of love and hope in the early days, it swiftly turned sour. The quiverful of children he expected me to provide him had never materialised – alas, not one child was born to us! The truth was that our marriage had been winding down into a discontented nothingness, leaving me nothing but a hollow shell which I attempted in vain to refill. Recently, my hopes had been rekindled when a surge of the old love we had shared returned to his heart…but it didn't last. My opportunities at conceiving grew slimmer with my age; combined with my duties concerning that other wretched girl – the younger daughter of my despicable sister – Maya Fey, it felt as though I would never give life again.

I had been resting up, recovering myself after the unfortunate scene with my husband, when she ran in to my private chambers. Her hair, smooth and black, was usually hung neatly in a long wave down her back and tied at the end with a purple ribbon – but that evening I noted angrily that she had unfastened the ribbon and let her hair fly free.

"Aunt Morgan! Aunt Morgan!" she cried ecstatically, a smile plastered idiotically on her gormless face.

"Mystic Maya!" I chided, doing my best to calm her. "What on earth have you done with your hair, young lady?"

"I…err…well… Never mind that! Aunt Morgan! I just called Mia using the payphone outside the Manor – she's got there safely, and she's about to have a meeting with her new boss at the lawyer's office. Isn't that exciting?! Isn't that the most brilliant news you've heard all day?!"

"It's good news indeed, Mystic Maya. But I still don't see what Mystic Mia's new job has to do with you losing your hair-ribbon. You didn't forget to tie it up again, did you? And after all that time I spent showing you how to fasten it up yourself…"

"Oh no, Aunt Morgan – I can still remember how to tie my hair up. I just got…bored with that style…yeah, that's it… I wanted to try something new; something…something that made me look…different…" Her foolish squeak of a voice grew quieter and quieter, until she stopped and all we could hear was the sound of the crickets outside.

I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest, a great longing for some lovely bitter green tea and jaw-droppingly large strawberry dessert flaring in my stomach. I held these cravings down, however – all too often of late I had indulged in them, and I had been gaining weight more rapidly than I would care to admit over the past few weeks.

"Mystic Maya – to whom did you sell your ribbon this time?"

"S-sell? My ribbon? Oh no, Aunt Morgan – I…err…I don't know what you're talking about!"

"It does not become a young lady to lie, Mystic Maya."

The nine-year-old's cheeks flushed an even brighter scarlet than the ketchup smeared over her cheeks…**ketchup**!?

"Mystic Maya!" I snapped, suddenly comprehending. "Did you swap your hair-ribbon to one of the students in exchange for a **hamburger**?"

She cast her eyes guiltily to the ground, wiping away the telltale splatterings of ketchup from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Morgan. But I was **so-o-o-o** **hungry**! And those students made so many burgers that it didn't seem to matter if just one went missing…"

"Mystic Maya, you had a good vegetable supper not three hours ago. How can you possibly be hungry after all that?"

"…I'm sorry…"

I sighed and rolled my eyes; and when she came to put her arms around my waist and hug me, I forced myself into cradling her head in my arms. As we stood there for a few moments, I felt the coldness of her magatama press against my arm and shuddered involuntarily. But as I did so, I felt something rise in the back of my throat…something hot and thick and sour…

"Are you feeling alright, Aunt Morgan?"

Maya had pulled away as soon as she felt the change in my body, and was now staring up at me with vague worry in her large dark eyes. I placed a hand over my belly uncertainly, and took a moment to steady myself, before answering.

"Yes, Mystic Maya, I do believe I am fine."

"You've gone very pale," she persisted. "Should I make you some green tea?"

"I…" Accepting help from this idiotic creature was something I did not normally do, but at that moment I felt so faint that refusing her would have been foolish. "Yes please, Mystic Maya. Make sure it's nice and bitter, though."

"Okay!" she said brightly, skipping away merrily to prepare the drink and leaving me alone.

I eased myself into a lotus-position on the floor, relaxing all of my muscles and inhaling deeply. I mentally scolded myself for having allowed the child to help me, but I was also glad of her presence – had she not been there, surely I would have brought up the vomit which I so desperately held down. A wave of acute, sensitive change swept over my body. Down in my gut I knew exactly what was going on, and why, and what it all meant…but the shock of realisation, mingled with the bittersweet duty of informing the wicked man I was forced to call 'husband', brought up tears that I hurriedly cleaned off my cheeks. At that moment…all my dreams were realised…

_xxxxxxxxxxxx_

Several months had passed since I was first made aware of my pregnancy. My delight at the gift of a child was dampened somewhat by my husband's insistent claims that I was to bring forth a useless son of no bearing to our status.

"Mark my words, woman – you'll have a boy, and he'll just set us back even further!"

I merely smiled into my teacup, sipping away and paying him no mind. Something told me – my body told me – that I would have a girl-child, a perfect and powerful baby filled with the potential bestowed by her blood. The infant was not due for another few months yet, and already I adored it with a frenzied passion. This was unlike my first pregnancy – this singleton would be the opposite of the other, useless twins I had produced before now – this child would provide my ticket to restoring the bloodline to rightful hands.

Every movement, every kick, was lovingly registered in my mind. Every night I would lie down next to my husband, cradle my protruding stomach, and whisper promises of greatness and power to the baby slowly taking shape therein. The girl I bore in the next few months would be my saviour – my angel – my jewel – my perfect pearl…

"Pearl," was my simple answer when my husband asked my opinion on names.

He sighed and shook his head, mocking me and our daughter. "We can't go naming our son with a girl's name, Morgan. It won't help, you know – it won't magically transform him into the girl you want so badly."

"Aunt Morgan **might** have a little girl, uncle," Maya interrupted, smiling at us over her porridge. She turned to me. "It's like Mia always says: 'There's always a 50/50 chance; it could go either way.' I think Pearl's a beautiful name, Aunt Morgan."

I smiled back and bowed slightly – though longing to tell her to mind her own business. But my husband was not half so polite, and rebuffed her well-meant comment by turning his back on her and blotting her out of his mind as he stood to leave the table. Even though I too disliked my niece, I did to some extent feel that I had a certain responsibility for her – and so patted her gently on the head. She merely gave another of her gormless grins and carried on shovelling porridge down past her gullet. When she had cleaned her bowl of every last bit of the food, Maya turned hopefully to me and all the way through our conversation I watched her eyes flicker over my own breakfast.

"Why does uncle think you're going to have a boy, Aunt Morgan?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Mystic Maya. Perhaps I shall have a son – though I myself think I will be blessed with a girl."

"Oooh!" The girl bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically (her head edging closer to my bowl). "I hope you have a little girl, Aunt Morgan – then I'll be like a big sister. I won't be the youngest Fey girl any more! And if it's a girl, you can call her 'Pearl'…" Her voice trailed away as she took her chin in her hand and cast her eyes heavenward. "Where exactly do pearls come from, Aunt Morgan?"

"I believe they come from oysters found on the seabed, Mystic Maya."

Suddenly a gleam appeared in her eye. Her little hands scrabbled to find mine; and when she found my fingers she squeezed them and said excitedly: "Oysters? Beds? Do you mean like oysters on a bed of seaweed – I had that when Mia took me to that restaurant in the city, the one which served all kinds of traditional seafood stuff."

"Did you now?"

"Yes, and it was delicious!" She paused for a moment, a second flash of thoughtfulness appearing on her face. "Do you think I could have accidentally swallowed a pearl or two?"

"… Somehow I don't think that very likely, Mystic Maya." Oh, what wouldn't I give for a lovely strawberry dessert to help me gather my nerves and deal with this foolish girl…

"You never know, Aunt Morgan. You could wake up some morning soon and find that I've turned into an oyster!"

I was about to reply – though not in kind – with the sort of answer that I might very well live to regret: but thankfully the morning bell clanged in the distance, rolling through the mountainside, and I instructed my niece to go and prepare for her morning training. Bowing devotedly upon hearing my request, the funny little girl with the long dark hair hurried away, eager to begin her everyday routine. I sighed and began gathering up the dirty dishes and cutlery, silently praying that **my** daughter would honour me with a display of intellect that would best **three** Mystic Mayas'…

_xxxxxxxxxxxx_

The blessed day arrived late one evening in the month of May; a busy time devoted strenuously to the preparations for our various summer festivities. Rain teemed from the storm-grey clouds, dancing on the roof of the Fey Manor (as though, as Mystic Maya put it, "the feet of the spirits were bopping up and down") before the droplets drained down and soaked the grass underfoot.

My stomach, by this time bulging uncomfortably against the straining fabric of my kimono, had been troubling me for a number of days. However, my physicians were of the noble opinion that I would be delivered in a month and not a moment before then – and I obediently chose to believe their words with my head – even when my heart of hearts was warning me to prepare for the coming birth.

My husband was no longer around; his certainty that our baby would be a boy had been a hard and heavy blow for him, and over the past few months his hopes had sunk lower even than our social standing around Kurain. Shortly after the seeds were sewn that year, he took off and left me for one of the "parapsychology students" who often came from the local university in order to study our habits and traditions. Mystic Maya, though she tried hard to comfort me, remained mostly uncomprehending; she was too young, too naïve and too stupid in general to understand the implications of her uncle's departure. It would have been worse for me had my poor heart not experienced the same sorrow years before – and at least this time I could console myself with the knowledge that I still had my daughter.

My water broke in the middle of my mid-afternoon meal, just as I was tucking into a jaw-droppingly large strawberry dessert…and I must confess that, instead of panicking, I simply stood and made an attempt at waddling off to find help. But my weak body stopped me, overcome by surges of intense pain, and my eyes were pained by the sight of my own blood. So all I could do was drop my head over my knees and try not to weep.

As luck would have it, Mystic Maya was the one to happen upon me – she had been searching all over for me, wondering why I had not attended the after-dinner training session.

"Aunt Morgan!? **Arggghhhh**! What's wrong? Why are you crying like that? Have you been eating oysters, Aunt Morgan? Are there pearls growing in your stomach? **Are you going to** **explode**?"

"Mystic Maya…I… I'm having the baby… Call for the midwife…immediately…"

"**Having the baby**!? **Arggghhhh**!" She took flight like a frightened pigeon, arms flapping everywhere as she scurried away to look for help.

"Foolish girl…" I mumbled under my breath, before turning my attention to my bloated belly. I had given birth before, so at least this experience was not totally foreign to me. Recalling the midwife's advice from the last time, I took in a number of deep, cleansing breaths as I began preparing myself for the labour itself…

_xxxxxxxxxxxx_

Several hours of screaming…blood…searing agony…they were not in vain.

The final push took place just as the evening bell went for lights out. When I heard that deathly sound in the distance, I vaguely wondered if I had not left behind my mortal body from all the effort it had taken to reach my goal. A faint crying met my ears, and then I realised that I was still alive…my child was still alive…and I do believe I gasped and shuddered with a relief so sweet that I was unable to even shed a tear of happiness.

After a few minutes of my being cleaned up and neatly removed to another bed, the midwife – a lump of dough on legs who was apt to laugh at the least appropriate times – presented me with a crisp clean bundle of white linen. As I took it in my arms I instantly felt warmth radiating from a small hole at the top, through which a tiny snubbed nose and closed eyes peeped through.

"It's a girl, Mystic Morgan," my faithful midwife whispered gently. "A perfectly healthy infant."

**A girl. My girl.**

"Tell me," I asked breathlessly, "tell me, does she seem likely to develop spiritual powers of any kind?"

The midwife's chubby lips puckered into a smile as she guffawed with jolly laughter. Then, as though growing bored of this private joke, her hand curled around the magatama hung about her thick throat as she pondered my question.

"Well now…if memory serves, Mystic Morgan, your other two girls had very little power between them. Isn't that right?"

I bowed my head, feeling ashamed.

"Well now, Mystic Morgan, well now! I didn't mean it as an insult to your fine blood, not at all! I'd say that your little tot has as great a chance of possessing spiritual power as your dear sister's second daughter, darling Mystic Maya. It's twins that cause the problems, m'dear; splitting that potential power isn't practical for any medium, but in most cases the ability is shared pretty much 50-50." She sighed, for a moment neither happy nor sad. "I suppose that your twins were that unlucky exception to the rule. But I wouldn't worry too much yet…for **her** sake."

"Yes, of course. My daughter is the most important thing."

"I wasn't talking about your daughter, Mystic Morgan. I meant little Mystic Maya; she came sprinting up to me, she did. Well now, I thought to myself, what's the future Master of Kurain village doing at my little old house, hmm? And then she told me everything, the whole story…"

**Future Master of Kurain…**the words burned in my brain when I heard them. I looked down at the precious life in my arms, hearing her breathing softly, and somehow I **knew** that within her there lay a great power. Vaguely a voice at the back of my mind reminded me to have a magatama made for her…one in a colour different from those of the main family, to distinguish her as my offspring…Mystic Mia's was white, Mystic Maya's yellow-gold…my own, hung underneath the thick layers of my kimono, a faded green…

"…and over I came. A thrilling exploit, no?" She was laughing again.

Truly, no other human being ever had such good reason to laugh as I did on that dark, muggy night – but the giggles didn't come.

"Blue." That would be the colour of my daughter's magatama – a beautiful sky blue.

"What did you say, dear Mystic Morgan?"

"Err…erm…I do apologise, noble madam. But I was just wondering what colour her magatama should be – blue, I think, would suit her best. What do you think?"

"Well now," she repeated an umpteenth time, "she's such a fair girl that I'm quite sure any colour would suit her."

"Th-thank you…"

All I could do was sit and stare at her, my beautiful baby girl. Before now I had never realised how much a child would mean to me – of course I had loved them dearly, but with my other daughters it had seemed that all they were there for was as insurance in the long road to the position of Master being reintroduced into my bloodline. After all, they possessed little or no spiritual power that I could harness and use to my advantage. With this baby, it was very different; I loved her for being **my** child, **my** answer to that faultless Misty's Mia and Maya. There would be no competition, nobody better in the life of my little girl – as far as I was concerned, she was my only child and I fully intended to bring her up with that in mind. Her very existence fulfilled the first step of my long plan…she was still young, still fresh to mould…and I would be her sole sculptress…she would be the next Master of Kurain…

"And what are you going to name her, Mystic Morgan?" the gentle voice of the midwife enquired warmly from where she was washing out the stained bedlinens. Her back was turned away from me, as she carried out her duties by the door.

"…She is perfect, my little girl," I replied, trying to justify my reasoning. "And so precious to me. And for that reason I'll call her Pearl – Mystic Pearl Fey!" Under my breath I added: "Future Master of Kurain…"

**And there you have it folks; my take on the birth of Pearl Fey. Please read and review – though like I said already, no flaming! Constructive criticism only, if you please! Thanks!**


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